


We know what we are, but know not what we may be

by Sharpiefan



Series: The Shakespeare Series [6]
Category: The London Life (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Father-Son Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 03:19:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6887671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharpiefan/pseuds/Sharpiefan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seventeen-year-old Robbie Fitzgerald receives a missive from his father</p>
            </blockquote>





	We know what we are, but know not what we may be

_We know what we are, but know not what we may be._

_~ Hamlet,_ Act IV Sc V

 

 **(Eton School, 1799)**

Robbie was used to receiving letters from home – from his mother, brother, sisters. The number of times that his father had sent him a letter, however, he could count on the fingers of one hand. The address was definitely his father's hand – clear, strong, masculine. The seal was the Rotherham coat of arms.

There was nothing to be gained by putting off opening the enclosure, and he steeled himself, breaking the seal and unfolding the single sheet, which was written in the same clear handwriting as the address. It was, if not precisely brusque, short and to the point.

  _Dear Robbie,_

_You are now seventeen and therefore of an age to consider your future career. Before you return home this summer, it would oblige me if you could decide what profession you should like to pursue, and carry out some research into what is required in the way of funds, further education or other prerequisites, &c. I am, of course, willing to put up whatever funds are needed, but therefore stipulate that you must be absolutely certain of the path you intend to follow once you have left school. To this end, you should compile your research into a simple report which you will present to me in an interview when you return home at the beginning of the summer holidays._

> _This above all: to thine own self be true,_  
>  _And it must follow, as the night the day,_  
>  _Thou canst not then be false to any man._  
>  _Farewell: my blessing season this in thee!_

  _I remain, your affectionate father,_

  _Lord Rotherham_

Robbie sighed and read it through again. It was not an unexpected missive, all things considered. There were several boys who'd left school already to take up commissions in various Army regiments, or whose folks had found them places as midshipmen in Royal Naval ships – he was one of the oldest boys left in the school, now, and really could not put the decision off much longer, especially with an interview with his father looming as the holidays drew closer. And of course his father was right; it would be very easy for him to continue to drift, although he was the younger son and needed to make his way in the world. He didn't want to just wander into a career that he was going to end up loathing, after all.

He found himself in the library with several sheets of paper, the most recent Army List and a new resolve. He had, naturally, been thinking about his career path off and on for the last three years or so – there were boys who had left school at thirteen or fourteen to take up commissions as Ensigns in foot regiments, a path that appealed to him somewhat, although he could not see himself marching around in red.

He flipped towards the front of the leather-bound book, where the cavalry regiments were listed. The Heavy Cavalry held about as much appeal as the infantry, but the Light Cavalry, on the other hand...

He pondered for a while. Surely it was better to approach the agent rather than the Colonel directly with the questions he had, and he began drafting a letter. There were several questions to which he needed answers, of course, and he pulled another piece of paper across so he could note them down as they occurred to him – the cost of the commission itself, what were officers required to provide, what the cost of that outlay would be, who would be the recommended tailors for the uniform, what were newly-joined officers required to know already.

He went back to the draft, adding in that he was enquiring about the Light Dragoon regiments, specifically the 14th (despite the cavalry not having county associations the way the infantry did, he found the idea of belonging to a regiment associated even only with the Duchess of York to be more appealing than to join, say, one whose designation was merely a number).

He lay the draft aside and took a few minutes to try to distil into coherent thoughts and words precisely what had made him choose to investigate this particular career, and to dismiss all other options. He knew that, should he have chosen the Church, there was a living in his father's gift that he could have had – which would have been a far more secure option in so many ways.

 He had far too much of an adventurous spirit for that to have been a serious consideration, but _that_ was not something he could lay before his father as a _bona fide_ reason – Lord Rotherham dealt in concrete reasoning and not abstract guesses. It was a final point in his argument, therefore, and not the opening one.

 Very well, then. He was no scholar, and the prospect of spending further time in study at Oxford, following in his brother's footsteps, was one that made him go cold. The idea of a lifetime spent surrounded by books, as lawyers and clergy seemed to do when they were not actually in court or visiting their parishioners, held no appeal. He was too old, really, to take up a midshipman's post in the Royal Navy, and his mathematics were weak at the best of times – he did not wish to end up hazarding a ship and the men in it because he had forgotten something stupid, like carrying one when adding up, as he apparently had in nearly every question on the last piece of maths prep he'd turned in.

  _To thine own self be true_... The quotation from Hamlet that his father had included made him smile as his eye fell on it again, and he bent to begin writing his report, beginning with the reasoning behind his choice. The facts and figures would have to be added later once he had received a reply from the army agents.

 The report begun, he went back to the drafted letter, and read it through, pausing to correct a word or phrase here and there before turning to write it out neatly. He refrained from any flourishes in signing his name, and paused before sealing it, half-wishing he was doing this from home so that he could ask the Earl to frank it.

 The reply to his father was somewhat easier to write, and paradoxically harder at the same time. He wrote the greeting, and paused.

  _Dear Father,_

  _I have received your letter of the 12 th inst., and am writing to inform you that in compliance with your instructions, I have written to the agents for the 14th Light Dragoons to enquire about sundry matters pertaining to the purchase of a commission therein. As you have directed, I have begun to compile a report for you stating my reasoning for this choice, and will include the answers to the questions I have asked of the agent, also the agent's address._

  _I remain, sir, your obedient son_

_Rob't Fitzgerald._

 He read both letters through again before deciding that he could not improve on them, and sealed them ready to send off in the morning and groaned as he reached for the incomplete Latin translation he needed to finish before prep was over this evening.


End file.
